


dream a little dream of me

by desdemona (LydiaOfNarnia)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Iwaizumi, Demons, Incubus Oikawa, M/M, Succubi & Incubi, Very Sexual Oikawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 22:05:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6537961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOfNarnia/pseuds/desdemona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"so i accidentally summoned an incubus and you show up with your engine running, but see the problem is i'm actually asexual and this is just sort of awkward for both of us."</p><p>Iwaizumi's life is hard enough. Accidentally getting contracted to a perpetually horny sex demon who doesn't know the meaning of sleep and thinks milk bread is humanity's greatest creation is the worst possible thing that could happen to him. Falling in love with him? Alright -- maybe <i>that's</i> the worst thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dream a little dream of me

**Author's Note:**

> I thought of this AU in the bathtub, because that is where I do my best thinking, and I honestly just thought it would be hilarious for Oikawa to pop up in the middle of Iwa-chan's bath. That's the entire reason this fic was born.
> 
> As a note: I'm not asexual. I'm pansexual, so that's like... the OPPOSITE. That said, my cousin is asexual, and while she says she doesn't experience sexual attraction herself she and her husband do have a sex life and she still finds enjoyment in the act of sex.
> 
> Also, there is no sex in this fic. Yes, a fic about an incubus with no sex in it. I actually wrote that.

Later on, Hajime would be able to say with all the certainty in the world that it had been Matsukawa’s fault.

For once in his life, Hanamaki was being the well behaved half of the Terror Duo; _Hanamaki_ didn't have any suddenly-developed interest in western satanic folklore, and _Hanamaki_ wasn't the one who got the bright idea to summon a succubus.

Hell, from the way Matsukawa explained it he almost made it sound easy. All that was needed was a summoning circle, a few candles, and an incantation to bind the demon to you; apparently you would then have an on-call sex spirit for as long as you needed it’s services.

“I'm not enough for you?” Hanamaki had asked, pouting, while Hajime was silently questioning if his friend and roommate had finally lost his mind.

“I knew this Mythology course was a bad idea, Mattsun,” he sighed, reaching across the couch to separate Matsukawa from the laptop where the ‘summoning ritual’ was apparently written out in wordy detail. Snapping the computer shut, Hajime had thought he'd put an end to the entire thing right then and there. The eyebrowed maniac, however, proved himself to be more persistent than either Hajime or Hanamaki had anticipated.

“It's not as if it will actually work,” he had insisted the next day, with all three of them congregated at their usual coffee shop. “It would just be a test.”

“It could be _interesting_ ,” he had gone on that night, bothering Hajime while he was working on an essay about the inner structure of the cardiovascular system. “What sort of college experience is it if you don't try to summon a demon at least once?”

“A normal one. A sane one.”

“A _boring_ one.”

“What's _wrong_ with you?”

Matsukawa had pouted and retreated, leaving Hajime to finish his essay in peace. Nearly a week later, however, and he was still clinging to the subject tooth and nail.

“You know, Mattsun, if Hanamaki isn't enough for you in bed then maybe it's not what he's doing wrong. Instead of focusing on this succubus idea, ever considered picking up one of your sister’s teen magazines?”

Matsukawa let out a laugh reminiscent of crunching glass. His expression was flat. “Iwaizumi, leave the sex tips for those of us who aren't virgins.”

“Leave the succubus talk for someone who actually cares,” Hajime had retorted; even then, however, he could feel his resolve whittling away, nerves wearing down over the course of repeated exposure. After a while, Matsukawa began to sound less insane and almost reasonable -- _that_ was the scariest moment for Hajime.

He still wasn't sure just how he ended up spending that Friday night helping his two best friends summon a sex demon from the depths of hell; but he could say with relative surety that it was absolutely Matsukawa’s fault.

As can be expected of most summoning rituals you find online (especially from a website focusing primarily on sex tips), the actual summoning was a flop. There was no minor hurricane, no explosion of black smoke, no sudden wave of intense orgasmic pleasure; there was just chalk to dab out of the carpet later and probably more open flames than their landlord would be pleased with. Hajime was so busy thanking his stars that the fire alarms hadn't gone off that he didn't notice anything different about the apartment’s suddenly much darker shadows, or think anything of the odd cold spots appearing sporadically around the living room. By the end of the night Matsukawa was disappointed, Hajime was tired, and Hanamaki departed with a kiss for his boyfriend and a promise that he would “never break your heart like some rotten succubus, babe, we can have all the super kinky hot sex you want, I swear”. Hajime, appeased with the idea that they could finally put the whole thing to rest, was actually in a pretty good mood.

His good mood lasted for about an hour; right up until his bubble bath (a Friday night tradition he had adopted three weeks into the school year, 200% effective in easing frazzled medical student nerves).

Hajime was leaning back in the tub when suddenly a head rose out of the water. Right between his legs.

“WHAT THE FUCK,” Hajime, quite appropriately, shrieked.

The kick he sent directly into the unexpected visitor’s face was also very appropriate, considering the situation.

Sitting hunched up in a very small bathtub, which suddenly seemed a lot smaller with a very naked, very emotional man wailing about the destruction of “his beautiful face”, Hajime cursed Matsukawa to every level of hell and back.

……

“So you're a succubus.”

“Incubus, actually,” the demon clarified, stretching himself out bodily across Hajime’s bed. The medical student did his best not to wince at the fact that the incubus was still very, very naked -- not to mention well-endowed. “You did summon a succubus, but it was more of a general summoning spell, and no one complains whether they get an incubus or succubus. Human sexualities are irrelevant to us, we all work the same way. The only difference is the name.”

“Right.” Hajime still wasn't convinced that this wasn't just some weird, caffeine-induced nightmare. “And is popping out of people’s bathtubs a normal thing too, or do you just have a flair for the dramatic?”

“Yes,” the succu -- incu -- _whatever_ agreed, nodding amiably. He was rewarded with a pillow to the face.

“Don't ruin my bath, roll around naked on my bed, and then not answer my questions properly!”

The demon let out an offended wail, kicking the pillow off of the bed and then rolling around once more, as if just to spite Hajime. “Mean! Why did I have to get summoned by such a brute? I bet you're _really_ rough during sex.”

Hajime’s eye twitched. “What.”

“I bet you'll really ravage me. You'll pull my hair, dig your caveman fingers into my thighs, probably bite -- oohhh, I bet you're into spanking, too! Are you going to spank me?” The incubus rested his chin in his hands, blinking wide amber eyes up at Hajime. He looked _eager_ , Hajime swore, and that almost unnerved him even more than the unabashed sexual comments. “It's been a long time since I had it _really_ rough. Will you fuck me from behind? Or are you just going to make me--”

“Stop. Stop. Holy shit, _stop_.” Hajime had retrieved the pillow from the floor, and was now trying unsuccessfully to smother himself with it. “Holy shit,” he said again, while the incubus watched on with interest.

Beneath several levels of internal (and external) panic, the very small rational part of Hajime that remained was considering his options. He could bolt for the door, but the naked hellbeast on his bed didn't seem like he took subtle hints; he could scream for Matsukawa, since he was the one who summoned the damn thing in the first place, but Matsukawa slept like a rock on the best of days and he was notorious for snoozing right through more than one of Hajime’s infamous rages.

But the bedroom eyes the incubus was giving him was making him uncomfortable, and not in the way they were intended to. This brought him to option number three; dump a cold glass of water over the horny demon’s head, and then maybe toss him out a window. Problem solved.

Except the incubus was creeping towards him now, his body sliding lithe and muscular across his bed. A flash of tongue flickered out of his mouth, caressing red lips; his eyes locked on Hajime’s, and suddenly the pillow across his chest felt less like a weapon and more like a shield.

“I want to have sex now,” the demon whispered, voice low, as if confiding some dark secret. “I want you to take me. I _need_ you.”

Hajime’s lip curled slightly as the incubus began to subtly grind against his bedspread. Did the demon realize he _slept_ on that?

“I need you, too,” he said in a flat voice. “To… get off my bed. Please. This is getting a little awkward.”

The incubus smirked, eyeing the pillow positioned strategically over Hajime’s crotch. “Ohhhh… are you _uncomfortable_?”

“Very,” he answered honestly. “I'd like you to leave.”

“You don't want me to help you take care of your little…” The pillow shifted, and the demon’s sharp eyes locked on Hajime’s crotch. There was a flicker of something dangerous in his gaze - and then, disbelief. “... problem?”

“The only problem I have is you,” Hajime retorted, taking a brave step forward -- utterly unhindered by what the incubus had clearly been expecting.

“This…” There was a light flush over the incubus’ marble cheeks; he was beginning to look flustered. Hajime leaned against his desk and watched him, unimpressed. “This has never happened to me before. I'm sorry.”

“For?”

“Well, normally you would be hard as a horse in heat right now --” Hajime snorted at the unexpected analogy. “And practically _begging_ to ravish me. This… I must be doing something wrong.”

“It's not you,” Hajime replied, examining his fingernails. “Trust me.”

“You… you do have working parts down there, right? I mean… there isn't a hint of arousal coming off of you, you should reek of it, _what the hell am I doing wrong --”_

There was a slight pitch of hysteria adding itself to the incubus’ frustration now; Hajime, suddenly fearing a scene reminiscent of his breakup with his last girlfriend, decided to put the demon out of his misery before he began throwing things and crying.

“I'm not going to have sex with you. I don't want sex. I'm _asexual_.”

The demon’s face had fallen. Now, he just looked confused. “Huh?”

When fifteen year old Hajime, in the agonies of identifying his own sexual orientation for the first time, had considered the possible future scenarios being asexual would entail, this had not even crossed his mind: rejecting a very confused sex demon splayed out naked across his bed like a really horny quilt. Hajime was beginning to regret ever listening to Matsukawa in the first place.

“Asexual. As in, don't feel sexual attraction. Not to you, not to anyone. You just popped up in the wrong guy’s bath.”

The demon blinked at him, wide-eyed; his gaze drifted to his crotch, as if still expecting to find something there, and then back up again. “You don't want to have sex with me,” he echoed, sounding slightly faint.

“Yup.”

“You're… not going to have sex with me?”

“Nope.”

“But…” The demon actually sounded a little frightened; Hajime raised an eyebrow, observing in utter apathy as the world fell to pieces around the incubus’s ears.

Suddenly he leapt to his feet, throwing out his arms; rather than feeling frightened, Hajime was much more alarmed by the sudden full-frontal assault on his eyes.

“This isn't going to go away by itself, you know!” exclaimed the incubus shrilly, gesturing to his raging hard-on, and Hajime flung his pillow at him once again.

“Sit the hell down! Haven't you ever heard of modesty?”

“I seduce people and drain the life from them during repeated sexual intercourse. What do you think?” shot back the incubus flatly, sitting back on Hajime’s bed with a slight bounce of his mattress. He really did seem to be in a state of shock; Hajime wondered if he would be in any condition to walk out of his room. If he passed out, Hajime would kick his naked ass out the door himself.

“Yeah… well, look, you won't find what you're looking for here, but my roommate seemed pretty eager to summon you for himself, so if you want to go across the hall--”

The incubus looked incredulous. “I can't just do that! I'm bound to you!”

“What does that mean?”

“That means I can't leave until I have sex with you!” His voice was beginning to rise in pitch with every word, and Hajime fought not to wince. “There was a virgin in the summoning circle, and that was _you_! I automatically contracted myself to _you_! Meaning, if I don't have sex with you, I'm stuck here! With _you_!”

“Oh my god,” Hajime breathed, eyes going very wide.

“There is _no need_ for that kind of language!” The incubus was shrieking now. Hajime was having a very difficult time believing that anyone could find the demonic emotional wreck in front of him remotely sexy. “Why would you summon a sex demon if you don't even want sex?”

“I was roped in to it! Manipulated! Why would you contract yourself to the only asexual guy in the room?”

“Once again -- virgin! It's all about corruption, the Guy downstairs likes it, I'm supposed to take your purity -- only you don't even want to have sex with me! This has never happened to me in eight centuries!”

“You really do get around,” Hajime remarked, crossing his arms and once again wishing the incubus was wearing pants while on his bed. “No one has ever summoned you before just to… you know, chat?”

“I… I'm not the small-talk type!” With every word, the incubus was growing more agitated. “You don't summon an incubus to invite them to tea, you summon them for a night of wild, back-breaking --”

“Great,” Hajime cut him off, nose crinkling. Apparently _oversharing_ was right up there under _modesty_ on the list of Things The Shrieky Incubus Has Never Heard Of. “But I don't really want a pet incubus. So… can't you just break the contract and leave?”

The incubus stared at him for a long, long time. Hajime stared back, and slowly the little flicker of hope in his chest sputtered and died. He pressed a hand to his forehead. “Fuck.”

“I wish,” muttered the incubus, flopping back on Hajime’s bed with a defeated sigh. “Iwaizumi, you really don't understand the way a demonic summoning works, do you?”

Apparently one of the caveats was your pet demon knowing your name; Hajime wondered just what else the naked hellspawn knew about him. He debated throwing a shoe at him, just to get him off of the bed, but ultimately decided against it. “No. Is there any other way to break a contract, besides, you know -- having sex with you?”

Staring up at the cracks in Hajime’s ceiling, the demon hummed thoughtfully. “Well, you always could exorcise me -- _aaah_ , but that is actually a _really_ really bad idea, don't do that.”

Hajime was silent.

“Iwa-chan?” The demon picked his head up, lips puckered charmingly around the frightful nickname. He fluttered his dark eyelashes, looking hopeful. “Please.”

“First thing tomorrow morning,” Hajime said, very slowly, while fighting not to act on his automatic instinct to throw the demon over his shoulder and hurl him out the nearest window, “I am looking for an exorcist.”

……

“We can't just exorcise him!” Matsukawa crowed the moment Hajime asked where he might have luck finding a proper demon banisher in the twenty first century. “This is fantastic, Iwaizumi, you realize that?”

“I had to sleep on the couch last night. And I didn't get any sleep, you know why? Because that bastard was singing _S &M_ all night long. You call it fantastic, I call it torture, and we're getting rid of him.”

Functioning on an all-nighter and four cups of pure caffeine, Hajime proved himself to be far less sympathetic to Matsukawa’s rare enthusiasms. That was how all three friends wound up assembled in the little apartment that afternoon, staring in shock, awe, and disdain respectively at the (still very naked) incubus sprawled across the couch.

The leather couch. That Hajime bought just six months ago, dammit.

Their plan was to discuss exorcism tactics. To their credit, a very small amount of discussion did wind up accomplished. However, by the third time Hanamaki and Matsukawa had to step out of the room, only to return moments later out of breath and noticeably disheveled, Hajime was ready to have a stroke.

“Can you stop that?” he snapped at the lounging Oikawa (that was the name of the demon, apparently, and he had been very offended that Iwaizumi hadn't asked earlier), who only shrugged languidly in response.

Matsukawa at least had the decency to look ashamed (which he _should_ , because this was all his fucking fault). Hanamaki simply smirked, running a hand through his mussed hair.

“You're really not feeling this, Iwaizumi? I mean, you have… urges too, right?”

“I heighten people’s attractions,” Oikawa corrected. “Not their actual sex drive. Iwa-chan is immune to my charms because he isn't attracted to anyone.”

“Sexually.”

“I don't think Iwa-chan is capable of feeling _any_ sort of emotion, with the way he's always going around scowling,” Oikawa moaned, dangling his head and shoulders over the side of the couch. One of his swinging feet nearly hit a picture on the wall, and Hajime hissed out a low curse. “He's so cold. So mean, and cruel, and he doesn't even appreciate a good Rihanna song--”

“You sing like a dying moose!”

“Mean, Iwa-chan!”

The high, distressed whine coming from the back of Oikawa's throat had Mattsun coughing awkwardly again. “Umm… I have to… water the pants -- _plants_.”

“I'll help you out with that,” Makki volunteered, and they both shuffled awkwardly from the room. They didn't have plants. There were definitely no plants out in the apartment hallway. Hajime turned on the incubus with a glare.

Perhaps the most infuriating thing was how unconcerned Oikawa seemed about the prospect of being exorcised. Never mind that it had been his damn idea -- Hajime would perform the exorcism himself, if only to prove to the bastard that he was fully capable of getting rid of him. Without sex, because Hajime was quite certain that even if he did have any interest in it he wouldn't have sex with Oikawa if he were the last person (demon?) on earth.

“You shouldn't frown so much, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa scolded lightly. “You'll get wrinkles.”

“Die, please,” Hajime hissed, burying his face in his hands and trying very hard to ignore the sounds of banging and loud moaning coming from just outside his apartment door. They were so going to get evicted.

……

“You've got to admit that there are benefits to keeping him around. I haven't come that hard since --”

“Shut up, Makki,” Matsukawa scolded, sounding truly unmotivated. Hajime wasn't stupid; he knew that his roommate was enjoying having the succubus around for “inspiration” just as much as anyone with an active libido would. He was beginning to understand just why Matsukawa had been so eager to summon the incubus in the first place; Oikawa was like the world’s most innovative sex toy, and he didn't even have to be in the room to get blood pumping.

He was also possibly the world's most annoying demon. Where Mattsun and Makki were getting wild hallway sex, Hajime was getting three in the morning covers of Lady Gaga, a small fire after a maligned attempt to cook eggs, and _“please play chess/Uno/hide-and-seek/gay chicken with me, Iwa-chan, pleeeeease”._

It had been less than a week, and while his friends were going through the world’s greatest honeymoon period, Hajime’s was ready to cut a bitch (or demon, in this case) down.

“What about _me_? Don't I matter? Doesn't my happiness, sanity, and peace of mind matter at all to you people?”

Mattsun and Makki stared at him for a long moment, before Matsukawa tentatively reached out and pat him on the shoulder.

“You matter. We care.”

“We just don't show it, ever, and we kind of have more important things to care about right now. Like sex.” Makki took a sip of his coffee, as if he hadn't just poured a glass of scalding reality over Hajime’s head.

“I have the worst friends in the world,” he realized aloud.

“Yup.”

“Pretty much.”

“Fuck it,” he announced, snapping his laptop (open to a Google search on _“how to get rid of a demon”)_ shut and snatching up his own coffee angrily. “I'm going to the library.”

The library was the least sexy place he could think of. Hajime needed that right now.

……

Oikawa followed him to the library. The eighty year old librarian behind the counter looked very uncomfortable for all of the five minutes Hajime spent there.

He also took to following Hajime to class, to work, and even when he just went out for a walk to get away from him. The only sacred time, Hajime learned, was morning coffee with Mattsun and Makki (Oikawa apparently hated coffee; Hajime took to carrying a cup around with him all day). Other than that, wherever Hajime went he suddenly found himself surrounded by people having sex, and a very horny demon who (while now wearing clothes at Hajime’s projectile-laden insistence) did not know the meaning of personal space.

“You summoned a demon,” Oikawa hummed whenever Hajime felt bold enough to complain. “You have to deal with the consequences.”

If he thought Oikawa could actually die, Hajime would have attempted to strangle him by now. As it was, with no exorcism in the near future and no chance of him having sex with Oikawa, Hajime was stuck. Trapped. _Cursed_.

……

Around the end of the second week, it occurred to Hajime -- somewhere in the middle of an essay and near the end of Oikawa’s off-key One Direction cover -- that he and the incubus had never actually had a real conversation.

“So,” he asked, in spite of every instinct in his body screaming that this was a terrible idea. “What's hell like?”

Oikawa fell silent; he stared at Hajime for a long moment, to the point where the medical student began to feel as if holes were being drilled into his back. A shiver coursed its way down his spine.

“You know,” Oikawa said after a moment, voice unusually thoughtful, “I actually think I like earth a lot better.”

“What's so great about earth?”

“Well… the food, for one thing. Human food is _amazing_. Some of it tastes even better than sex! And humans have the best music. Not to mention their movies and TV shows - human entertainment is leagues above anything we have in hell. Do you know that in hell, we sometimes --”

For the first time in nearly eight centuries, Oikawa Tooru had a real conversation with a human being.

And that night, after what felt very much like eight centuries, Hajime got his first night of uninterrupted sleep.

……

If Oikawa liked one thing even more than sex, it was milk bread. He and Hajime both discovered this one day during lunch, when Hajime stuffed an entire roll of milk bread in Oikawa’s mouth to get him to shut up. Shockingly, it worked; the demon didn't speak again for almost five minutes, until he started moaning for more.

The delight Oikawa took in milk bread was almost orgasmic. There was something distinctly uncomfortable in watching the demon’s head drop back in ecstasy, chest rising and falling in short breaths, stuffed mouth open in a moan around a chunk of cream and pastry bread. Maybe it was Hajime’s own personal preference; he couldn't stand the stuff. Still, he remained fairly certain that no living creature should take such delight in what amounted to a high calorie chunk of bread and sugar.

Milk bread shut Oikawa up, though, so Hajime bought it in droves. Whenever he passed the rack in the supermarket, whenever he caught a glimpse of a pack in the campus cafeteria -- his mind would immediately drift to Oikawa, and he would buy one for him. The incubus’s response was always a delighted squeal, the milk bread vanishing into his mouth faster than Hajime could remind him to slow down and breathe.

There was something a little pathetic in it, Hajime thought. At times, Oikawa reminded him of a little kid. This comparison was maybe frightening, considering he was a demon fueled solely by sex; but loathe as he was to admit it, Oikawa had his charm, in his own unique way.

Then he opened his mouth again, and Hajime remembered why he was still periodically googling exorcism rituals.

……

“Iwa-chan?”

Hajime, accustomed by then to Oikawa bugging him while he was trying to work, didn't even look up from his homework.

“Do you love anyone?”

Hajime froze. His pencil led snapped with a sharp sound, and he exhaled harshly through his nose before casting the utensil to the side and rummaging around on his desk for a replacement. Oikawa watched him, silent, actually waiting patiently for once until Hajime had finally gotten a new pencil in his hand and turned his attention to the paper again.

“Of course I do,” he retorted, trying to keep any emotion out of his voice. “I love my mom. My dad, my sister too. They're my family. I even love Matsukawa and Hanamaki, asses that they are sometimes. Everybody loves people.”

“Oh,” Oikawa said, and then he was silent again; Hajime felt the urge to break another pencil, but thankfully managed to stifle it before tilting his head back to look at the demon.

“Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity,” Oikawa replied without missing a beat; he didn't look like he was lying. Then again, Hajime had learned how hard it was to tell. He was smart enough to realize that with Oikawa it was never “nothing”.

“Human emotions are funny,” the incubus continued, when Hajime persisted in staring at him. “You all run around, living your lives, loving people and getting hurt and feeling so angry and so glad… I don't know how you do it. Seems like it would be a pain.”

The conversation had taken a turn Hajime hadn't expected, and he wasn't sure how to handle it. “Love’s… love’s a funny thing. There are a lot of forms it can come in. All you've ever known is sex, so I guess you wouldn't know…”

“Sex is a form of love,” Oikawa retorted quickly.

“It can be. But summoning a demon for sex… that's kind of like one major step up from hiring a prostitute. But there isn't any real… _emotion_ there, besides lust.”

“Prostitutes usually don't kill you if you sleep with them one too many times,” Oikawa added, and his perch at the end of Hajime’s bed teetered considerably; struck at once with the fear that he would fall, Hajime automatically reached out to grab him. Oikawa caught himself; his lips curled back in his usual flawless smile when he caught sight of Hajime’s extended hand.

“Then again, Iwa-chan, you're such a brute that you probably don't know much about emotions anyway. I bet you love people the same way you love tofu.”

“I wouldn't die for tofu,” Hajime retorted, maybe a little too sharply. The conversation was venturing back into unsteady territory again. “I’d die for my family, and my friends. I doubt you’d know what that kind of love is like.”

He expected Oikawa to argue, but the demon was silent; when he finally turned around fully in his seat to face him, Oikawa had fallen back onto Hajime’s bed. An unreadable expression had settled across his face, maybe something troubled; but it cleared as quickly as it had arrived, Oikawa’s eyes catching Hajime’s studying him. He scrunched up his nose at the other boy, tossing his head carelessly.

“Good thing no one’s asking you to die for them, then,” he retorted, and Hajime was seized with the sense that it was an insult fallen flat; as if Oikawa couldn't summon up enough inspiration, or he was trying very hard not to care enough.

……

Hajime could feel romantic attraction. He had thought, for a time, that maybe he couldn't; that was back when he was young, still discovering his own sexuality and struggling to separate the concepts of romantic and sexual love in his own head. Only feeling one did not make a person broken; it just made them different from those who felt both, the other, or none at all.

Hajime could feel romantic attraction, but that did not mean he had ever been in love -- not in the classical sense. He had never felt the sort of love that sent your stomach swooping, your heart pounding out of your chest, your ears tingling just to taste their words once more, and your eyes desperate to caress their image again. He was not familiar with the sort of love that inspired poets, artists, dreamers; the sort of love they wrote epics about.

A part of him wasn't even sure that type of love was real at all.

……

Hajime was not a movie snob; far from it, actually. His all time favorite film was the original 1954 classic _Godzilla_ ; he had first seen the movie when he was six years old and fallen in love with it, cheesy acting and awful animatronic effects aside. There was a nostalgia to the film that resonated deep within Hajime’s sentimental old chest, made him feel warm and allowed him to escape to fantasy-Tokyo if only for a few hours. He would always maintain that the _Godzilla_ franchise were cinematic masterpieces; so he probably wasn’t the best person to rant about film quality.

But he had _limits_ , dammit. He had dignity.

“Oooh, what’s this one? This looks pretty interesting.”

Mattsun and Makki broke away from trying to devour each other’s face just long enough for Mattsun to reply, “That one’s about aliens invading earth and stealing peoples’ brains. It’s sort of lame.”

Oikawa didn’t even glance at him, eyes glued to the television screen. Perched on the edge of the couch, sitting on his knees and leaning forward (enough that Hajime could probably knock him off the couch with a simple shove -- which he would _never_ do, because he was a nice person, sometimes), Oikawa looked enraptured with the D-list special effects taking place on the screen in front of him.

Hajime, however, wasn’t having it.

“No,” he said flatly, making a grab for the remote. Oikawa swung it just out of his reach, eyes still piercing the screen.

“It’s my turn to pick a movie, damn it, we let you join Movie Night out of the goodness of our hearts and I hate aliens _so fucking much_ \--”

“Iwa-chan. Shut up.” Oikawa silenced him abruptly with a hand clamped over his mouth. Hajime licked his palm.

Somehow -- Hajime had no clue how it happened, and his two friends had already long-since retreated to the bedroom, so they couldn’t say either -- Hajime wound up dozing off to that stupid alien movie. When he began to stir, his head was pillowed against something soft, radiating heat under his cheek; unconsciously he nuzzled further against it, and he heard someone let out a gentle coo.

His eyes cracked open. Oikawa was towering above him, staring down at him with a terrifyingly affectionate expression on his face. “Aww, Iwa-chan, falling asleep in my lap. How adorable.”

Hajime ground out something that might have been a curse, had his groggy tongue been working just a bit better. He made to roll off the bed, but the sudden sensation of fingers running through his hair caused him to freeze.

So, Oikawa had discovered his weakness after all.

He turned his chin up to face the demon, expecting to find a cocky grin or a now-familiar set of bedroom eyes. He was taken by surprise to find Oikawa’s expression unexpectedly gentle. The demon was looking down at him with something Hajime might almost dare to call fondness in his wide chocolate orbs.

“Stay,” the incubus breathed, his voice barely louder than a whisper. To Hajime’s own surprise, he allowed his head to fall back onto Oikawa’s thigh again.

He was exhausted, and he could hear the movie still going in the background; the last thing he wanted to be subjected to was brain-stealing aliens and men dressed in low-budget space suits. Normally he would have cited his dignity and gotten the hell up, at the very least to fall asleep somewhere else instead. But Oikawa’s lap was warm, and maybe the slender fingers carding their way through his hair felt a little nicer than he wanted to let on.

(Had he ever mentioned to Oikawa that people running their fingers through his hair made him sleepy? He wasn’t sure.)

For the moment, he supposed, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to doze on Oikawa’s lap for just a little bit longer. His pride would be able to survive.

……

One morning, during his customary coffee dates, Hajime caught himself humming the latest pop song that Oikawa was obsessed with.

“Oh no,” Makki had exclaimed, placing a hand over his heart in mock-shock. “Iwaizumi’s caught the trashy pop music virus. Oikawa must be rubbing off on him after all.”

To hide the fact that he was internally screaming, Hajime dumped a cup of ice water on his best friend’s lap. His ‘oops’ was as insincere as Makki’s screams were agonized.

Matsukawa said nothing, instead sipping at his coffee in silence. Matsukawa was a wise man.

That afternoon, Hajime burned a CD of his favorite classic rock songs and presented it to Oikawa like a gift. If he was going to be subjected to terrible song covers, he at least wanted a choice in the music. He anticipated that Oikawa would argue; his expectations fell flat.

Oikawa sounded a lot worse singing rock than he did pop music, but somehow Hajime found that he minded it less.

……

“It’s not as if I like the guy or anything. He’s annoying as all hell, and he doesn’t know how to shut up, and he’s eating me out of house and home with his stupid milk bread! And he wears clothes but he doesn’t _like_ them, and he’s always complaining about them -- and he still sort of tries to seduce me, only I don’t think he actually realizes it, I think constantly horny is just the natural state for him, and last night I had a dream that he and I were at the beach and --”

“Wait, whoa, wait. Take a breath. You _dream_ about him?”

“Didn’t I just say that?” Hajime, irritated, took a large sip of his coffee; it was both scalding and too much to swallow at once, so he wound up choking and nearly spraying coffee all over the table and his friend. Hanamaki leaned about as far back as his chair would go, but his eyes were still focused and scrutinizing.

“So you’re dreaming about him, you’re constantly thinking about him -- and you still hate the guy?”

Hajime nodded, not seeing where the redhead was going with this.

“Can’t stand him?”

“Obviously.” Hajime wondered if his friends actually listened to what he had to say, or if all they ever heard was a monotone buzzing that vaguely resembled words.

Hanamaki’s head made a dull thud against the table as he slammed it down; the coffee cups shook. One of Hajime’s eyebrows quirked, baffled at the response; Hanamaki didn’t say anything for the next fifteen minutes. For as rare as silence had become in the medical student’s life, it was actually pretty peaceful.

……

“Iwa-chan, you’re so smart. In a really stupid way.”

“I’m majoring in medicine. You have to be stupid to choose that as a life path. If I survive this workload, I’ll probably still drop dead from exhaustion.”

“Just don’t expect me to catch you.”

“As if. The day I need you to catch me will be the day I land on my head. You have the upper body strength of a ten year old.”

“What are you talking about? This is all muscle! Look at it, Iwa-chan! Look!”

“Get your muscle out of my _face_ , Shittykawa!”

Sometimes conversations with Oikawa were almost too easy. Sometimes there were moments where Hajime felt so used to his presence that he had trouble remembering what his life used to be like without him.

Those were the moments that scared Hajime the most.

......

The changes were subtle at first; small enough that Hajime didn’t even notice them. He had become so conditioned to Oikawa’s presence constantly exuding sex hormones wherever he went that the distinct lack of people shamelessly humping each other in public was at first a relief. He noticed the enthusiasm tapering in Oikawa’s incessant attempts to hit on him, until they stopped entirely; Hajime was glad that he's finally given up. Only when he realized that Matsukawa and Hanamaki could remain in the same room with Oikawa for nearly an hour without having to excuse themselves once did it dawn on him that something was wrong.

Oikawa sometimes didn’t follow him around anymore. Hajime didn’t know where he went, but it only made it easier for him to look up things on his laptop without worrying about being seen.

 _‘Incubus mythology,’_ was his first search. He followed this with _‘demonic contracts’, ‘incubus on earth’_ , and _‘what happens if you don’t have sex with an incubus’_. (Hajime was nothing if not thorough.)

As it turned out, no one really knew; most of the websites he found were dubious at best, and he couldn’t find any sort of information on what could happen to an incubus contracted to a human for a long period of time. As far as he could discern: it wasn’t supposed to happen. Demons could handle being contracted to humans, but sex demons were different. They were not meant to stay on earth for long periods of time.

As to what would happen to them, no website could tell him. Hajime had a feeling he was creeping towards his own conclusion anyways.

Oikawa didn’t sleep. This was probably one of the most unbearable things about him, and that was a bold statement coming from someone who had been annoyed by literally every single thing about Oikawa at some point of another. One night, Hajime realized that Oikawa was being unusually quiet. He was never quiet for long periods of time, unless he had milk bread or was watching a movie about aliens (he had a fondness for the creatures that Hajime couldn’t comprehend; he guessed it was because Oikawa had finally found his true species).

When Hajime turned, he found Oikawa lying on his side, curled up tight on Hajime’s bed. His eyes were shut, chest rising in even breaths. His face was slack and peaceful.

A cold dread settled in Hajime’s chest, and didn’t leave him for all that night as well as the next day.

…...

Oikawa never complained, and he never once implied that anything was wrong; Hajime told himself that if the incubus himself wasn't alarmed, there was no reason for him to be either.

And then came the coughing -- horrible, bone-shaking coughs that sent Oikawa doubling over and gasping for air where he could find none. In the middle of one of his incessant questions he would suddenly break off into a devastating fit that left Hajime’s own lungs aching.

The coughing became more and more common, to the point that whenever Oikawa would get himself worked up over something he would find himself almost on the ground, wheezing. Gradually, Hajime noticed the demon’s usual bright exterior begin to dull; he no longer grew excited when he heard a new song he liked, saw an interesting movie on television, or learned something new about humans. A combination of exhaustion and illness was slowly but surely weighing his body down.

……

“Oikawa?” Hajime asked one night. The room was dark; he was laying on his side, covers pulled up to his chin. Back pressed up against his own, Oikawa seemed to radiate heat, and Hajime was grateful the chill of deep winter made such closeness bearable.

“Hmm?” Oikawa wasn’t asleep yet, but the noise was thin anyway, quiet.

“Why don’t you sing anymore?”

“Iwa-chan, I thought you hated my singing.”

“I did. You’re awful. Still, it was… something to get used to, you know? And you never learned to sing all those songs I got you, from that CD I made… I kind of wanted to hear you tackle punk rock.”

Oikawa was silent for a long time; his foot brushed up against Hajime’s, and the dark-haired boy instinctively nudged him back. It was a thoughtlessly affectionate gesture that he didn’t catch until it was already too late. He knew that Oikawa had noticed it just as much as he had.

“I don’t feel like it right now,” Oikawa said after a long moment, and Hajime felt his heart sink. The bitter taste of disappointment hung heavy in his mouth; without the demon’s voice to pierce the night, his room seemed a lot emptier. He wondered if Oikawa was able to feel that, too.

…...

Oikawa was loud, stubborn, reckless, and irritating; but he was above all things bright, brighter perhaps than anything Hajime had ever known. When he was around, Hajime’s entire world somehow felt more charged with energy; and when he smiled, Hajime felt alive.

Oikawa was as essential to Hajime’s world as the sun, and he shone just as brightly. Just like the sun, Oikawa burned bright and strong; but now, Hajime realized that he was terrified. His world was getting darker; the sun was burning out right before his eyes.

Oikawa was never meant to burn out. Sure, he’d probably bring it upon himself anyway, but he was not meant to flicker and die. His light was never meant glow so brightly only to fade away just when Hajime was starting to love it.

He had to do something. If Oikawa wasn’t going to say a word, was going to dodge questions and put on fake smiles, then Hajime would have to be the one to save him. He had never been a hero; but he was smart enough to realize that he was the only one who could help Oikawa. If the demon was dying, Hajime still had the power to save him.

Head in his hands, Hajime sat hunched over his desk; Oikawa was next to him, asleep, just as he had been every night for the past two weeks. Sleep never did anything to lessen the dark circles around his eyes, or make him seem any less exhausted. Hajime had asked him once and Oikawa had said that he didn’t dream, but apparently he enjoyed sleep anyway.

He had to do this. He didn’t have a choice.

The idea of having sex had never appealed to him, but he’d never found himself disgusted by it. If anything, he was neutral to the concept, unenthused by the idea of being so intimate with someone but not actively against it. He had never felt a desire for anyone’s body, and he did not feel any such desire for Oikawa.

But there were different kinds of love -- that was what he had told Oikawa, wasn’t it? And he was right. There were different kinds of love, and Iwaizumi Hajime was very afraid that he was falling in love with the incubus.

Which was why he had to save him.

Hajime had tried so hard not to care about Oikawa. But the fact was, he did. Probably a bit too much.

Oikawa lay still on his bed, breaths coming evenly; on his side, the incubus was curled slightly into himself. If possible, his face looked even more flawless in sleep; any traces of egotism seemed to iron itself out of his placid expression, replaced by an almost gentle peace that settled naturally across his features. Looking down on him, it was all too easy to note the things that made Oikawa attractive: finely sculpted jaw, marble skin, a delicately curved nose, high cheekbones. He _was_ beautiful.

And awful.

Then again, Hajime supposed there were worse ways to give in to him. At least he had never agreed to play Uno.

Carefully, without shaking the bed at all or disturbing the sleeping Oikawa, Hajime climbed up. He placed his left knee on one side of Oikawa, and his right on the other; towering over his sleeping form, he felt a churning in his stomach that he could not place, but which felt distinctly wrong. This wasn’t right.

But compared to watching Oikawa’s light fade out before his eyes, it was so much better.

He leaned down, one hand caressing Oikawa’s chin gently; he allowed his breath to brush his ear, unsettling his dark locks and softly tickling the demon’s face.

“Oikawa. Wake up.”

His eyelids fluttered; Oikawa shifted, nose crinkling, a slight pout on his lips before he noticed Hajime looming above him. All of a sudden, his eyes were wide open, pure confusion clouding dark irises.

“I- Iwa-chan?”

Hajime said nothing; operating on pure instinct, he gyrated his hips against Oikawa’s own. The demon’s breath caught in his throat, a soft moan slipping out from his lips as he responded in turn. The sensation of hardness pressing against his own member should have had Hajime’s body responding, but it seemed as if his body was as reluctant as the reservations in Hajime’s mind. Gritting his teeth slightly he reached up, hands already tugging at the collar of his own shirt and pulling it over his head. Bare now, to Oikawa and to himself, he wondered what Oikawa felt when he looked at him.

If he had thought Oikawa would fail to notice, he was a fool. Oikawa was a lot of things, but he only pretended to be careless. Sometimes he was too sharp for his own good.

The incubus’s face was already flushed, body responding and eager; but when he suddenly stilled, Hajime knew that his plan was crumbling. Oikawa’s gaze pierced him, dark eyes digging beneath his skin and searching to understand. Hajime wouldn’t be so ready if he didn’t have a damn good reason; maybe the guilt shone on his face, but suddenly, frustratingly, Oikawa drew back.

“What are you doing?” Hajime demanded, voice harsh. Oikawa, wide eyed, minutely shook his head.

“Stop, Iwa-chan.”

“What’s the matter? All you’ve wanted for months is to fuck me. _Months_ , Oikawa. You begged me, remember? You bared your body to me, you moaned, you whispered my name -- why not now?”

“Be _cause_ \--” Oikawa cut himself off with another fit of distressed coughing; Hajime’s expression hardened as the other’s body shook beneath him, and he was reminded once again of why he had to do this. As soon as Oikawa caught his breath he leaned down again, lips searching for the demon’s -- but Oikawa twisted away.

“Why?” Hajime hissed, unable to keep the anger from his tone. When Oikawa looked up at him again, his face was drawn; his lips were pursed in a perfect cupid’s bow, and his eyes were warm and gentle. Hajime felt something constrict inside his chest; he looked so, so easy to fall in love with. What a fool he was.

“You don’t want this.” One of Oikawa’s hands reached up, brushing against Hajime’s cheek. “You don’t deserve it. Your first time -- if you ever have sex, it needs to be because you want to. I don't want to take that from you.”

 _“I do want to.”_ Iwaizumi had never been a good liar, but he tried to force all the emotion he was feeling -- all the incomprehensible emotion, the fear and confusion and desperation -- into those few words. He leaned across Oikawa’s chiseled chest, hands digging into his shoulders, probably bruising the delicate skin. “Oikawa, please. Don’t you see? I need you. I need you to do this. I need you to take me.”

“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa’s voice sounded strained; Iwaizumi felt a jolt of panic when he realized that there were tears glimmering in the other’s eyes. Instinctively, a hand reached out to cup his cheek, but Oikawa drew away.

“You’re _sick_ ,” Iwaizumi pleaded. “You're getting sicker. You can’t stay here.”

“I won’t do this to you.”

“Oikawa, please!”

He wasn’t listening. Oikawa squirmed under him, trying to twist his way out from under Hajime’s body; Oikawa was taller than he was but Hajime was more muscular. On top of him now, Hajime had the upper hand. He could pin Oikawa down, kiss him, and after he’d wanted it for so long would he really refuse?

He would. One look into those wide, distressed eyes and Hajime had no doubt.

“I need to go,” Oikawa breathed, and this felt like a jolt of electricity shocking Hajime’s system; never had Oikawa told him that he was leaving. The incubus tended to fade in and out at will; he never announced where he was going, or when. As much as Hajime had imagined Oikawa saying those exact same words (many, many times) hearing them now just sounded so final. He felt terrified.

“I won’t let you go.”

“Then, Iwa-chan…” Oikawa’s eyes suddenly seemed just a little bit darker. “I’m sorry.”

Hajime didn’t have time to react as the incubus suddenly leaned up; throwing his arms around his neck, he pulled himself off the bed, and Hajime’s wide gaze caught Oikawa’s own a second before the incubus’ lips were suddenly pressed to his.

Hajime felt his heart stop. Kissing Oikawa was nothing like he remembered from his first experiments with kissing. Kissing Oikawa felt like being wrapped in something warm and safe, a comforting sort of surety that wrapped him up and consumed him. At once, he and Oikawa were the only things in the world.

Oikawa’s tongue forced his lips to part; as soon as he had access, air suddenly flooded the cavity of his mouth. Unwittingly, Hajime swallowed down the breath Oikawa had pressed into him; and suddenly his head felt cloudy. He just had time to register that something was off, wasn’t right, before he felt his body begin to grow heavy. The world around him swam alarmingly, and as Oikawa’s lips broke away from his Hajime could feel himself teetering on the edge of a precipice.

“Wha--” He tried to speak, but his tongue was thick in his mouth. Oikawa’s eyes were pitch black, his face all he could see. He felt overwhelmingly tired; and though he tried to fight it off, tried to focus, Oikawa’s thrall was too much even for him.

He was vaguely aware of himself slumping forward into the demon’s secure arms, his vision blacking out as abruptly as a television screen. The sensation of fingers carding through his hair called his mind back to an earlier time, movie nights and his head pillowed in a warm lap.

Just like that, Hajime fell backwards into a heavy, gentle darkness.

……

When he opened his eyes, sleep persisted in clinging to him; it weighed his eyelids down, slowing his limbs and muddling his thoughts. Hajime lay very, very still in his own bed for a long time before something occurred to him.

Oikawa was gone.

He had fallen asleep in his arms, and woken up to find himself alone. Hajime had not been truly alone for such a long time; there was the sensation of missing a part of him, a hollow in his chest, a limb forcibly torn away from his body.

“Oikawa?” he dared to ask into the silence, voice raspy and throat parched. There was no reply. Hajime hadn’t really expected one.

He didn’t go to class that day. When Matsukawa came home that night he found his roommate passed out alone on the living room couch, several empty sake bottles at hand. Oikawa didn’t come back that night -- nor the next, or the next.

……

After a few weeks, Hajime found that it was becoming easier to pretend he didn’t miss him.

He still had the sensation of a phantom limb; while doing homework, he would sometimes toss a comment over his shoulder, or glance towards his bed expecting to find someone else there. When he realized that he was alone, there was always a vaguely sick feeling in his stomach; he would turn back to his work, brow furrowed, and force himself to focus.

(He wasn't there anymore; a masochistic little part of Hajime sometimes wondered if he'd ever been there at all. At times, memories of Oikawa seemed like a dream.)

He had to remind himself that Oikawa had never been his; he had existed for far longer than Hajime’s own miniscule human life, and had probably seen so much that all Hajime had been to him was one more inconsequential human. But another part of Hajime (the masochistic part) knew exactly how untrue that was. Oikawa didn’t show every human his true smile; the one that didn’t slide across his face as smoothly as water, but the one that grew slowly, filled with warmth that bloomed straight from his chest and seemed to push outwards until his entire being was glowing. He didn’t laugh at anyone’s jokes until his stomach hurt or he toppled off whatever perch he’d chosen to sit on. He didn’t ask any human about what they thought about so many things; life, death, love, family, humanity itself. He didn’t really care about any other humans; but Hajime liked to believe that Oikawa had cared about him.

He wasn't depressed.

This was what he told himself, and he stuck to it, even in the face of the worried looks Hanamaki and Matsukawa would often send his way. He didn't feel empty whenever his mind flashed back to Oikawa’s face. There was no dryness in his throat, no vice grip inside his chest, whenever he remembered the way Oikawa would perch on the edge of his desk and read essays over Hajime’s shoulder. His hand never shook when he remembered the way Oikawa would brush against him sometimes, his own slender fingers running over Hajime’s calloused ones. (For as much as he constantly seemed eager to seduce him, Oikawa rarely initiated physical contact; when he did it was almost always by accident, but Hajime treasured the memory of those short brushes of hands.) His lips never felt like they were on fire at the memory of Oikawa’s mouth on his.

Because if any of these things really were true, that would mean Hajime had lost someone. It would mean that Oikawa really was gone from his life forever, and he wasn't dealing with it well at all.

So he told himself it wasn't true. It didn't hurt. He was gone, and maybe he's never been there in the first place.

Slowly but surely, it started to hurt a bit less. The weeks passed, the wounds began to heal themselves, and slowly the pain faded.

……

_Months later…_

If Hajime had been left to his own devices, he probably would have gladly passed out in bed for the entire week following his last class of the week. Starting a new semester, complete with new professors and new courses, always took a lot out of Hajime. For the past week he had had been running almost exclusively on three hours of sleep a night and enough coffee to energize a small army -- probably not the best first impression to make on his professors.

But Hanamaki was an indomitable force of persuasion, as usual -- well, actually he was just very effective at bribing Hajime out of the house with promises of food. That was how Hajime had found himself roped into helping out at his university's orientation for freshman students on a very sunny Friday afternoon, when he would have really preferred to be curled up in bed with his laptop and a cup of tea.

Amidst the bustle of new students, wandering around the campus with wide-eyes and bright, intelligent faces, it was easy to get overwhelmed. All around him, people called out into the crowds, handing out fliers for groups and organizations. The ocean of people lacked a definite current, seeming to move against itself as students collided, everyone trying to take in as much as they could at once. It was quickly proving to be a bit much for Hajime. Abandoning Hanamaki to their refreshments booth with a slightly guilty look, Hajime had promised to return in five minutes at most.

Now, he realized, he'd be lucky if he got back to Hanamaki at all. He’d been swept away by the crowd, abandoned in the center of the freshman storm with no idea where he was or how to get back.

Around him, voices called out in a dizzying cacophony; it was impossible to discern one from the other, and Hajime could feel the beginnings of a headache begin to pound in the back of his skull. His eyes felt heavier than they had all week, his coffee crash finally beginning to set in. All he really wanted was to go back to the flat he now shared with both Makki and Mattsun, and indulge in his previous fantasy of snoozing the weekend away.

"Excuse me! Are you interested in joining the astronomy club?"

Hajime was taken by surprise when a colorful flyer was suddenly thrust right in front of his face; he looked up, brow furrowed in annoyance as his gaze traveled up a slender arm, past muscular shoulders, and landed on a very handsome face.

A _familiar_ face, he realized with a jolt to his chest.

The other man's russet eyes grew huge; something close to recognition flooded his gaze, and for one glorious second Hajime could almost hear the victorious _"Iwa-chan,"_ dancing on the tip of his tongue. But the man's words froze in his throat, refusing to leave him even as Hajime accepted the flyer pressed against his chest.

"Never been good at astronomy," he replied slowly, his words coming careful and almost uncertain. Hope and fear twisted in his stomach in equal measures, fighting for dominance over the whirlwind of his mind. He was both desperate to believe and terrified of hoping. "Stars always looked the same to me."

"They're all very different," replied the man, seeming to find his voice at last. "Each star is it's own identity -- just like humans. Maybe that's why I find them so fascinating."

Hajime was barely aware of his head nodding, even as he struggled to process the freshman's words. "Y- yeah. When you put it like that... you know, maybe I'll check out the astronomy club after all."

His handsome face, youthful in its smoothness, split suddenly into a beaming grin that left Hajime teetering on the edge of cardiac arrest. With that single smile, any doubts that had lingered in his head were promptly swept away, like autumn leaves in the wind.

"I'd look forward to seeing you," said Oikawa, his voice the sweetest sound Hajime had heard in his life. "I have so much to tell you... _Iwa-chan._ "


End file.
